


A Very Dangerous Place

by aybeexinfinity



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybeexinfinity/pseuds/aybeexinfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard doesn't exactly want to come to terms with her thoughts about the bounty-hunter, but sometimes you're forced to face things you'd rather hide from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Dangerous Place

The dark music was pumping loudly through the speakers of Anderson’s apartment, a deep rhythm that Shepard could feel reverberating from the floors up through her feet. She let the sound consume her while she wrung out the water from her hair. Her cabin on the Normandy was something special, but not even Cerberus pre-fab showers could compare to something high end like the apartment. This place was made to be lived in, and everything reflected that. She stepped out onto the heated floors and grabbed a towel, drying herself off before roughly drying her hair.

Despite her hesitation in looking after the apartment for Anderson, she had to admit it had come at a much-needed time. After dealing with the mess of the Krogan Genophage and the situation on Palaven, Shepard was drained. Maybe it had more to do with losing Mordin, though. Some part of her knew that he did what needed to be done, that she couldn’t have changed the ending, but it was a hard truth to swallow nonetheless.

Shepard hooked on her bra and slipped on some underwear, noting that she needed to do some laundry so she wasn’t stuck wearing this lace and partially see-through crap into battle. Somehow, even with official N7 armor, it never made her feel as badass. But this stuff would do for now. Running her fingers through her hair a few times, she got the part somewhat decent and left the bathroom. Half way into her closet, instinct made her grab the nearest gun and turn.

“Dammit, Massani.” She hissed, tossing the firearm back in its place. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring her down with the same angry blank stare he always had. She had decided long ago that the massive scar and bad eye just made him look like that. “You could have knocked.”

“Figured if you were being attacked you wouldn’t be blasting this goddamn shite music.” He shrugged, standing up. Shepard suddenly became aware that she wasn’t exactly dressed, mostly due to the way his eyes brazenly wandered. She started to regret giving everyone access to the place. When he finished taking in the sight of her he nodded once and walked over. “Nice.”

“And what if I was just busy?” She challenged, searching for some clothes to put on. He pressed a hand to her bare back, lingering it there for a moment before pushing her to the side. She swallowed hard and kept her back to him, quickly finding some pants and a shirt.

“Won’t be on the Citadel long. Picked up some mods from a Batarian in the refugee camps, needed somewhere to fix my guns.” He immediately fired up the soldering gun and laid his weapons on the workbench while Shepard fixed her appearance. Zaeed kept focused on his work while he talked. “Thought you’d be too tight-laced for a tattoo, Shepard. Alliance regs or summat like that. Helluva spot for one, though.”

“Yeah, well, people don’t really see it.” She brushed off, leaning on the wall beside the workbench and watching him work. From what she could tell he was modding some hybrid of a Vindicator battle rifle and the Firestorm he loved to use. Even without him saying so, she knew he’d hold the tattoo against her in the future. He always thought she was too sentimental over her ship and crew. The fact that she got that memorialized in ink on her lower back could only serve as cannon fodder.

“Need some ultralights, gotta swap out this frame.” He paused his work to look up at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes but motioned for him to move back. She crouched down and pulled a big box out from under the workbench. It was organized into a number of different sections, each one holding different brands and makes of mods.

“Couldda used a stash like this back on Omega.” He said with a grin, bending down beside her to rifle through the things she’d acquired. Zaeed didn’t bother to ask for any of them—he never did much asking—but just took what he wanted.

“Most of it is stuff I got through the Armax Arsenal Arena. Top prize was elite Cerberus armor but, for obvious reasons, I decided to trade it in.” Shepard picked up a few pieces, remembering vividly the battles she’d fought to win them.

“Heard that place was decent. Might check it out for some R&R later.” Zaeed picked the things he wanted and got back to work, kicking the heavy box back under the work bench. “You got passes?”

“I could get you a license.” She shrugged. The truth was once she had enough points she went ahead and bought a license for all of her crewmates, just in case they ever wanted to do some fighting that wasn’t _actually_ life or death. “I’ve got a pretty solid high score, though. So don’t feel bad if you aren’t exactly keeping up.”

At that, he completely stopped all of his work. Standing up straight, he turned to face Shepard with a death glare.

“That’s a fucking challenge there, Shepard.” He said strongly, spitting into his palm and holding it out. She never understood the age-old human custom, but she spat in her palm too and shook his hand. After wiping it off, she crossed her arms over her chest and watched as he finally picked up the finished weapon.

“Satisfied?” She asked, standing up straight. He pointed the thing directly at her chest, closing his bad eye as if focusing to aim. After a moment he nodded, tossing the weapon to her without notice. Shepard caught it and felt the weight of the weapon in her hands before taking a position. Zaeed walked up beside her and started explaining.

“Tired of having to lob around incendiary grenades when I’ve got a bleedin’ flamethrower. Rounds come out, catch fire, higher chance of exploding on impact than with incendiary ammo. Melee and long-distance weapon in one.”

“A bigger capacity would help, don’t you think?” Shepard asked, using the scope and bracing her finger on the trigger. He took the gun back and slid it into his armor.

“Whole point of it is to reduce the ammo I use. ‘Sides, flamethrower makes it heavy, can’t have too many add-ons or else I might as well be lugging around a goddamn grenade launcher.” He walked out of the closet and turned the blaring music off. With a sigh of relief, he turned back and frowned at her. “Are we going or what?”

Shepard grabbed what she needed and followed him out of the apartment. In the elevator the two of them listened to the latest news report from Tuchanka and overall reports from throughout the galaxy. Zaeed make a couple of comments about the reapers and how ‘those tin can goddamn bastards will bleed.’ Shepard forgot the oddly comforting effect of his absolute blood rage. She’d told him more than once that she was certain he was part Krogan.

As they passed the entrance to the Armax Arena Shepard was sure to point out her name on the high score board, rivalled only by Aria T’Loak. Zaeed vowed she would have to get comfortable in second place, but the two of them went on anyways. The gates opened up at Shepard’s approach and she led the way down the stairs, stopping in front of the customization screen.

“That’s a lot of emails.” He said, reaching out without asking to open the inbox. She would have rather he didn’t see all the crap sent to her, but he seemed to be wholly amused. He read the first couple of lines of over a dozen emails from would-be suitors confessing their love and adoration with as close to a genuine smile as she’d ever seen him sport. “These the kind of people you might be _busy_ with in your apartment?”

“Is that jealousy I hear, Massani?” She teased back, swatting his hand away and going back to the game options. “So what are we doing—collectors like the good old days or some of these new horrors the reapers so graciously delivered to us?”

He didn’t answer, but instead lightly shoved her out of the way and began choosing for himself. Leaning over the console, she eyed the exposed tattoo on his arm that had a fresh scar on it. She wondered how many times he cursed at receiving the wound, and how many rounds he put into the offender.

“Let’s go.” He pushed her ahead of him, not giving her a chance to see what he’d selected. She trusted him, though, when it came down to it. In fact, Zaeed was probably, in a very strange way, one of the crewmates she trusted most. The bottom line with Zaeed was that he could be ruthless, he could be harsh and cold and unforgiving—but he was fiercely loyal, dedicated to a fault, and unexpectedly easy to get along with. Once you got past his half-assed social skills and blatant disregard for personal space.

When they got down into the simulator, his whole demeanour changed. Relaxed. Battle was his baseline. A firefight, his comfort zone. Hell, it was one of the few reliable things left in this messed up war.  The two of them walked around the level—he had chosen Brimstone—and prepared themselves for the fight. Zaeed leaned against a wall, taking out a cigar and using the flamethrower on his gun to light it. Taking in a deep, long breath, Shepard watched as he tilted his head back and let the smoke flow out.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The automated announcer called out over the loudspeaker. Shepard took out her weapon of choice and turned on the ammo power she deemed best. “It’s combat night in the Armax Arsenal Arena!”

“Here we go.” He said from the side of his mouth, teeth clamped tight over the cigar. The smell wafted over to her and she did her best to focus on the areas marked for enemy spawn sites. The announcer counted down from ten and they got comfortable, a grin spreading across his face in anticipation.

“Round One.”

The arena erupted with mechs and mercs, a dozen Blue Suns armor-clad soldiers shooting at them. Shepard didn’t bother containing her smile. _Of course mercenaries_. She half expected some smart-ass remark about this helping him ever since she let Vido Santiago get away, but he just focused on pure unbridled destruction. The mods he put on his gun worked wonders, setting half the place on fire. Round one ended and he leapt off the stairs, claiming the bonus for them.

“Think they’ve got a template for Vido?” He called up to her as she followed after him.

“Somehow I doubt that was on their list of things to include.” Shepard replied, taking aim at the new site of enemies. This time, they came with heavies and YMIRs in addition to the LOKI and FENRIS mechs. They were dodging missiles left and right, but he couldn’t have cared less. The arena was exploding around him and he was only focused on firing wildly at the enemy forces, laughing whole-heartedly every time something caught fire.

“Sit down!” He roared, firing a concussive shot. While he focused on the frontal assault, Shepard was sure to keep their flanks clear. When she ran out of things to kill, she shifted her focus back to her ex-crewmate. He was so stuck on the LOKIs approaching one step at a time that he failed to notice the Batarian vanguard lining up a kill shot.

“Zaeed!” She called out, hoping he would duck. As always, he was too focused on the kill. _Determined to a fault_. Shepard resorted to blocking the shot with her body, feeling her shields shatter completely. The Batarian hit her with a concussive round that sent her stumbling backwards into her the mercenary. He helped her steady herself, hands lingering on her sides a little longer than they needed while she got in a good head shot.

“The match goes to Shepard. Promotional consideration brought to you by the Alliance News Network. Your galaxy, your news.”

“Now _that_ was relaxing.” Zaeed took another deep drag of the cigar and blew the smoke through his nostrils.

“At least _one_ of us wasn’t getting shot with their shields down.” Shepard jabbed, rubbing her shoulders. “It may be a simulation but it still hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah. The whole point of not fighting alone is to have someone watching your back. And you watched mine.”

“Didn’t think you needed to watch mine too?” She challenged, leading the way back to the elevator. He gave a small grin and shrugged.

“Mechs do more harm than mercs.” He replied easily as they went back to the main floor of the arena. “I’ve got a few people to see—payments to collect. Might go drinking later.”

“Is that your way of asking me to join you?” Shepard asked incredulously, crossing her arms over her chest. He didn’t face her, simply walked to the nearest trash can and threw the stub of the cigar inside. He continued to walk away, not even throwing her a backwards glance.

“I’ll let you know which bar.” He said simply, disappearing out into the strip. Shepard stood there shaking her head but eventually went over to claim her prize. She noticed that the high score still belonged to her, which may have contributed to his lack of desire to stick around. She shrugged it off and cashed in the gold prize for 10,000 credits, musing that she probably could have made a decent living in the same line of work as Zaeed if she really wanted to.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shepard was neck deep in mission reports, the night still young, when Massani sent a message to her comm. He told her he’d be hanging around one of the grungier bars down in the lower wards. She didn’t need to be asked twice—almost _anything_ beat the tedious task of mission reports. This, she would actually enjoy though. Massani, at his most sober, was willing to indulge her in numerous stories from his colourful past. But with some drinks in him? That was when he brought out the show stoppers.

From her closet she picked out a simple black dress and made herself look nice enough to go out. She knew the night would likely end with her blackout drunk, she just needed to make sure by the time that happened she was back here so people like Khalisah Al-Jilani couldn’t do a couple smear jobs for bad publicity.

When she was finally content with how she looked, Shepard went down to the strip and caught a cab. As the sky car took her through the passages of the Citadel, she could see the monstrous lines outside of numerous clubs—it made her appreciative of Zaeed’s aversion to big crowds and his choice of a less public place. Moments like these, she hesitantly acknowledged the similarities between them. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, they were both bred to kill and to be good at killing. Certain morals and ethical boundaries separated them, sure, but much of what made them who they were was made of the same stuff.

“Shepard.” Zaeed called out to her as she got out of the cab. She walked over to him and he began to lead the way inside. “Hope you bought credits.”

“So not only do I have to fund your arcade obsession, but now I have to pay for drinks?” Shepard chided, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “You are a _horrible_ date, Zaeed.”

“Fine. I’ll pay.” He said after a few moments locked in a staring contest. “You’re the one with government funding.”

“I can’t exactly charge a night of drinking to my Spectre account.” She replied, picking a table in the corner and getting comfortable. The bar was dark and so was the music, but she figured it was impossible to find a bar that wouldn’t play music the mercenary would hate. Shepard couldn’t help but notice that most of the patrons looked just as roughed up as he did. Zaeed Massani had brought her to a merc bar. _Of course he would._

“This place takes me back.” He said after putting in an _extremely_ long drink order into the table’s computer. He reclined in the chair, looking around with an approving nod. Shepard leaned forward, listening intently. “Bar like this, back on Omega. First time I ever saw Aria T’Loak with my own eyes. She offered me a nice sum of credits to deal with a faction of the Blood Pack out for her head. It’s always the goddamn Vorcha. What would they do with power if they were ever lucky enough to get it? They’d run the galaxy into oblivion. Hell, we might end up that way anyways.”

“We’ll win this war.” Shepard said confidently as the drinks were delivered. He ignored the barely clad Asari waitress, claiming he’d already included a tip so she didn’t need to waste her time. The mercenary immediately got to work dividing up the drinks amongst them, and despite her affinity for getting drunk during tough times there were a few things she didn’t recognize.

“Tonight we’re gonna drink as if we won’t.” He said with a muted smile, sliding the first round of Turian brandy to her and raising his glass. They toasted to the hypothetical end of the world and began to drink. Turian brandy didn’t taste all that different from the Human kind, although it had more earthy tones than she cared for. She figured it was a bit of a miracle that not _everything_ from Palaven was poisonous to humans.

“If you had to pick…fighting your way through Omega’s underbelly or going into the Collector home world again, which one and why?” Shepard watched as Zaeed downed the drink and slammed the glass on the table, staring her down.

“Mercs are child’s play. Give me a week and I could wipe out all the mercs in Omega. Never bothered because no one would pay me to kill _all_ of them. That and Aria might give me a run for my money.” He laughed at the image in his head of trying to take down Omega’s namesake and motioned for Shepard to take the next drink with him. “Collectors…nothing beats feeling like you’re about to bite the bullet. Certain doom has a way of making you fight your best.”

“And here I was thinking you picked Collectors ‘cause you’d get to fight with the Normandy crew again.” Shepard teased, moving onto the third drink without him. He quickly followed to catch up and shrugged.

“They’re decent folk. Some fight better than others.”

“I noticed you didn’t feel like talking about the fact that I kicked your ass in the arena. Even after taking a bullet.”

“ _Simulated_ bullet.” He corrected. She smiled and shook her head, feeling a pleasant buzz. When she looked at Zaeed, at the scared and beaten and enduring mercenary, Shepard…saw a version of herself. Shepard as she would have been, had the Alliance not picked her up. It scared her, but it comforted her. Zaeed was proof that she would have survived thus far even on a different trajectory. “What’s so goddamn funny?”

She brushed it off, looking away and sliding him the next drink. It was some Asari mixer, named after some part of the culture she knew nothing about. It stung like crazy going down, but it was followed up with a smokey-sweet aftertaste. Shepard pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on the cleavage of her dress. She started to wonder if he was remembering her half-naked, but she pushed the thought from her mind. She was nowhere near drunk enough for that.

Nowhere near drunk enough to admit to herself that she hadn’t returned to his room in the Normandy’s cargo hold time after time just for some good stories. The fact was she couldn’t hide behind military regulations against fraternization—he was about the farthest thing from an Alliance soldier as you could get. And under no circumstances would she ever acknowledge the dream she’d had about him the night before they went through the Omega-4 Relay. She hadn’t even dreamt about past _boyfriends_ that way.

The memory of it made it hard for him to look at him, and he sensed it. He started to fill in the gaps with more stories, going into detail for the ones that made her laugh. He seemed to enjoy some of the stories from the Normandy-SR1 too, offering all of his blunt tactical advice on what she _should_ have done for all the situations that went south.

“It was clear that Kaidan and Liara were both…a little too interested.” Shepard recalled having to make it clear that the mission came first, and not having any time after taking down Sovereign to really revisit the situation.

“Shouldda been an easy choice. The Asari.”

“Except the only boobs I want to see are my own.” Shepard said with a slight slur, the both of them well past their seventh drink. The last one was something tame, but the sixth had taken some time to go down. A Hanar beverage of some sort, apparently with a 1 in 400 chance of killing you—a fact Zaeed had withheld until they’d already drank.

“That makes two of us.” He said through a gruff laugh. It took Shepard a moment to understand what he’d actually said, but he was too busy pulling over the tall glass of whatever was next to see her reaction. It would be fine in the morning when she was too hung over to remember this, but for now she had to deal with the onslaught of thoughts. Maybe he’d thought of her in the same way on the Normandy.

“What was it like running the Blue Suns?” She asked out of the blue, drawn back to the time when they’d first met. When all he lived for was vengeance.

“Want some more, eh?” He challenged in a low voice. It made her swallow hard, but he didn’t react. “Being in charge of those bastards were the best goddamn years of my life. No reapers blowing everything up, no Illusive Man to answer to, nothing to worry about ‘cept what I wanted. Miss that time…Whole thing muddled by Santiago though.”

Shepard was quiet for a moment and then began to half-ass explain that she appreciated putting that aside and helping with the mission. She was reasoning that he technically could have gone on the run with the credits or quit when he found out the suicidal odds, but before she could get too far he groaned and put the next drink in her hand, clasping it tightly around the glass. She rolled her eyes but took the hint, and together they drank.

They kept swapping war stories, eventually exhausting their supply of alcohol and needing to replenish. Shepard was glad she’d convinced him to buy because if it had been her tab being run up, she would have called it quits a while ago. He had gone so far as to order some incredibly old bottle of scotch that did _not_ come cheap, and finished nearly the whole thing himself. Drunk Zaeed wasn’t all that different from Sober Zaeed, which made Shepard wonder if he was actually ever fully sober or if his tolerance was just incredibly high.

“You!” A man called out from across the bar. It was getting late (or early, technically) and the place was starting to thin out, but there were still a few rough looking patrons around. This one in particular looked wasted and furious. “It’s all your god-damned fault.”

“Are you talking to me?” Zaeed said with sudden ferocity. Shepard was in the process of warning him not to lose his temper when the man clarified.

“No, I’m talking to _Shepard_. You’re the reason my whole crew was slaughtered. You’re the reason I’m all alone!” He wiped at the slobber coming from his mouth, steadying himself on the nearest table. “Blue Suns...they will endure. You can’t wipe us out completely…”

“Hell, mate, if one soldier took out your whole piss-poor squad you deserved it.” Zaeed laughed, slamming down the empty bottle of scotch and wiping his mouth.

“What do you know, old man?” The drunk spat, narrowing his eyes. “If there weren’t any guards here I’d kill the both of you. Shepard, I’d take it slow. You’re the fucking anti-christ and I will bleed you out one day!”

Just like that, the whole atmosphere changed. Shepard learned long ago that if she reacted to every pissed off merc or disgruntled pro-human campaigner, she’d never have a moment to herself. But the two Krogan guards hanging around the bar, each drinking a bottle of ryncol, were alert in an instant. Zaeed stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor as it moved, and he crossed over to the drunkard. In one swift movement he had the guy by the throat and pinned him onto the nearest table, scattering the drinks and the people. His newly modified assault rifle was pressed to the chin of the man and he leaned close.

“Just give me a fucking reason.” He growled, successfully terrifying the guy into silent submission. The Krogans were at the side of the mercenary at once, guns drawn and telling him to leave. He let the guy sweat it out a few moments longer before roughly releasing him and walking towards the exit. He motioned for Shepard to follow and she finished the last of her drink before heading out. “Had enough of this place, anyways.”

The two of them walked to the nearest sky car port, calling a cab and waiting for it to arrive. All the booze was really starting to go to Shepard’s head and she started to sway, immediately regretting her choice in wearing heels. She reached out to steady herself on the mercenary but he didn’t seem fazed.

“Wish those Krogans didn’t stop me. I feel like killing something with my bare hands.” He said absently, looking around at the people still lingering in the wards. “Feel like going back to the arena? Could load up some husks and rip their heads off.”

“I am not nearly sober enough for that, Massani.” Shepard admitted, taking one step towards the approaching cab and stumbling. He huffed once and decided to pick her up, wholly ignoring her demands to be put down and the vow she could walk.

“I ain’t gonna pick you up of the floor.” He said simply, strengthening his grip and not reacting when she gave up and put an arm around his neck. She heaved out a sigh, cursing him for the way he was. How could she be so drawn to him when he barely even looked at her? The cab door opened and he set her in the passenger’s seat, getting into the front beside her and programming the destination. “Hard to believe the hero of the galaxy is such a lightweight.”

“Lightweight?” Shepard took offense, straightening up and turning to face him. “I could have walked. I’m just a little unsteady. Still coherent, here.”

“You weren’t even riled by that walking dead man.” He challenged, squishing his eyebrows together as if it was the most logical argument against her alcohol tolerance. “If you were sober you would have at least punched him.”

“Zaeed, I can’t go around punching everyone who disagrees with me.” She said in an exasperated voice, turning to face him with heavy eyelids. In the back of her mind she was thinking of normal things, like the fact that she needed to sleep and finish all the reports she’d neglected and probably abstain from alcohol from a while to give her liver a break; this was all just background noise, though. Because for the most part, she was focused on the mercenary.

The cab was on autopilot but he still laid his hands on the wheel, ready to take over at the first sign of trouble. There wasn’t a whole lot that he willingly relied on in the world—even his weapons occasionally quit on him—but she realized that back when they were in the arena, he’d trusted her to watch his back. It had been that way on the Normandy, too. Whatever she did, she had managed to earn his trust.

And he’d earned hers. Zaeed Massani would never sugar coat things for her. In fact he’d probably give her a healthy dose of pessimism just to keep her on her toes. But for all his trickery, for all his selfishness, he’d never lied to her. Never cheated her or put her life at risk for his own. The mercenary had left lots of people behind over the decades, had sacrificed things that weren’t his to give up—but never with Shepard. She had earned his respect.

Partly because of the alcohol and partly because she had a whole lot of built up sexual frustration (Vega was all talk and no walk no matter how much she pushed), she did something that the small sober part of her knew would be problematic at some point. Reaching her hand out, she turned his face towards her and leaned over to kiss him. He didn’t push away at first but kissed back, letting her muse at the taste of booze and cigars that he left in her mouth. It wasn’t until she crawled onto his lap that he moved away. Looking up at her, he evaluated her actions and leaned back in the seat.

“I’m old enough to be your grandfather.” He said simply, not really as an argument. Just a reminder, in case she needed it. She flipped her hair to one side and looked him in the eye.

“I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” Shepard replied, placing her hands around his neck and wishing he didn’t always wear his goddamn armor. Zaeed considered the words for a moment, leaving her hanging. She knew damn well this wasn’t an issue of age—he was exactly the type of man to have one-night stands with a hundred women, hired and opportunistic, that were young and beautiful. His hesitation here was because of who she was.

In the end, he didn’t seem to care. He slipped one hand to the back of her head and brought her back to him, meeting her lips with hunger. There wasn’t much space to maneuver which kept them mostly pressed together, though neither of them seemed to mind. She may have been a commanding officer of the most advanced ship humanity had to offer, but in this sky car, in this setting, he was the one in control.

His hands moved down her sides, thumbs brushing against her chest, and settling with a tight grip on her ass. Her fingertips trailed over the bit of exposed skin on his right arm and she found herself wondering how far the tattooed design went. He was old, but still had incredible strength and stamina, and Shepard was certain his body would reflect that.

When he needed to stop for breath, he bit down on her lower lip and brought his teeth down her neck. She thought he would return but instead his hands wandered, moving up her legs and inner thigh until the edge of her dress was pushed up to her waist. Without warning he slipped his right hand beneath the fabric and lightly dragged a finger up and down her slit. Shepard’s grip tightened on his shoulder plates, nails digging across the chipped and scratched paint. When his thumb brushed against her clit she let out a stifled moan, evoking a smirk out of him.

His free hand pulled the straps of her dress down so they were hanging off her shoulder and the black lace bra was peeking out of the fabric. He kept his teeth at bay this time, pressing slow, determined kisses to her shoulder and collarbones. He only kept this up for a little while before slipping two fingers inside of her. Her whole body tightened up around him, and he took the opportunity to get his free hand in her hair and hold on tight. The pain felt better than she expected.

He started slowly, at first. Painfully slow. Massani may have been reckless with guns and ammo, but he definitely knew how to use his own hands as precise weapons. The pace was kept mostly steady, this repetitive motion that gave him some weird satisfaction in watching. Every time her breath caught, every time his lips on her neck made her shiver, he got off. It was only when he curled his fingers and hit a sensitive spot that she actually cried out, leaning forward out of reflex. He let out a low laugh and paused to take in the expression on her face. Shepard’s eyes snapped open and she glared blurry daggers at him.

“ _Don’t you dare stop_.” She commanded roughly, bringing her lips down on his. He took the order well enough and began to work at her with roughness and speed. The mercenary pulled her hair, forcing her head back again so he could admire the sight of her in such disarray. The Great Commander Shepard, a ragdoll in his palm.

Her hips rolled against his, her entire body squirming as he worked her. Despite her best efforts, his name escaped her lips in desperate prayers. Shepard’s breath was quick and shallow, his nose brushing against her jawline while her toes curled. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the feeling of the sky car beginning its descent, and knew that soon they would be close to however many people were still awake on the Silversun strip.

“Come on,” He urged gently, releasing her hair and laying his hand on her waist. She braced herself on his chest plate and tried her best to stifle the noises pushing out of her throat. “You’re almost there.”

And he was right. Shepard took one deep breath and her head fell back, legs pressing in against the mercenary’s as she released a drawn out ‘ _Fuck.’_   He continued until the waves had finished, waiting until she slumped forward to reclaim his hand. She propped herself up and wiped at the sweat on her forehead, trying to steady her breath. He looked please with himself, but beyond that there was a change. His eyes were filled with a darkness, a lust. It was a welcome sight, she decided as she fixed her dress and hair.

“You have arrived at your destination. Please exit the vehicle.”

Zaeed absently told the VI to shut the fuck up while Shepard wound down. This was the moment that part of her had been worried about: the aftermath. What now? Did she invite him up? Was this the end of their friendship? Would he disappear off the citadel until the war was over? _If this war even ends with us living_. Before either of them could say anything Shepard’s comm rang.

“I know it’s late Commander.” Samantha said regretfully with sleepy eyes. Shepard was careful to aim the screen in a way that only she was visible. The comm specialist started to explain her reason for calling, but the mercenary didn’t seem to care that Shepard was busy. He leaned forward, almost in a challenging way, and began to kiss at her neck again. “While you are still on shore leave, I figured you may want to read these updates. Hackett forwarded them from the team working on the Crucible, and there’s also some hopeful news leaving Tuchanka. Just thought it might make things easier.”

“Thanks Traynor, I’m on my…on my way back to my apartment now.” Shepard said in as steady a voice as she could muster, only able to endure so much before she started to falter. “T-Tell Hackett I’ll ressspond…shortly.”

She ended the call immediately, letting out a small noise before finally pushing him away. Raising an eyebrow at him, Shepard silently chastised him for his actions. All he did was smirk. She didn’t exactly know how to explain that she did in fact need to go check out what Hackett had sent her, but he seemed to pick up on it.

The door to the sky car opened at the mercenary’s command and he nodded that it was okay for her to just leave. She didn’t know what to say—sorry? Thanks?—but he didn’t leave her much time to. Instead he just programmed in wherever it was he was going now and slipped in the last word before the door shut again.

“Talk later, Shepard.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Well you said you got the reports.” Wrex shrugged over the comm. He took up the entirety of the window, big red eyes looking through to her. “So you pretty much know what’s happening. I don’t know why you sound so surprised, Shepard.”

She took heavy steps into the apartment, taking comfort in the vacuum sound the door made when it closed. Standing in front of the big windows, Shepard could feel the heat of the fire behind her. It felt too much like the flames did on Tuchanka. She kept on as strong of a façade as she could muster while talking to the Krogan.

“I guess…I guess I was just hoping you might’ve had some better news.” She admitted hesitantly, not making a habit of letting others see the doubt. She figured it didn’t make for great morale when the person supposed to be leading them wasn’t too hopeful.

“The Krogan are doing what they do best. Killing. And now that you’ve cured the Genophage, they have something to fight for.” Wrex said sternly. His words made her smile; he was so different from the nonchalant mercenary she first met on the Citadel. Now he was a leader. A good one. “We may not be kicking all the reapers off of Palaven, but hell maybe if we brought some thresher maws over…”

“Wrex.” She chided, raising an eyebrow at him. He let out a deep laugh and shrugged.

“What? Just an idea. I’ll keep you posted, Shepard. Good fighting.”

The call ended and she heaved out a heavy sigh, her entire being slumping under the pressure she felt. Shepard sat down on the back of the couch and leaned forward, putting her head in her hands. Getting the Krogans to work with the Turians was one thing, but that didn’t mean that it would work. She could continue her career of doing the impossible and it still wasn’t guaranteed to be enough to stop the reapers.

“What’s the difference…” A voice rang out behind her. She jumped to her feet and had her gun out in an instant, letting out an exasperated sigh at the sight of the bounty hunter. She barely recognized him at first, standing in her kitchen without any armor on. “Between Commander Shepard and every other person with a brain in the galaxy?”

“Dammit, Zaeed.” She hissed, putting her gun away and bracing herself on the couch. Part of her wondered if all his armor was laid out on her workbench upstairs in preparation for one repair or another.

“When anyone else hears a stranger in their apartment, they shoot first.” He scolded, moving a dirty plate into the washer.

For a few moments, she didn’t said anything. It had been over three days since the incident in the cab. Something she was sure she’d forget with all the booze, but it was the first thing she remembered when morning came. Since then there’d been no communication at all and Shepard was certain he’d left the station completely. Realistically, though, there usually wasn’t much communication between them.

“What are you doing in there?” She asked finally, walking over to inspect the damage of her—of Anderson’s kitchen.

“Got hungry.” He shrugged, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a beer. Before he opened it he checked the label but seemed to be content with the brand. “Almost ate some of that dextro shit by accident. Why’ve you got so bloody much of it?”

“For when Garrus or Tali come over.” She said dismissively, cleaning up the mess he’d made in a flurry around him. It helped her take her mind off things. “What did you come here for?”

“To finish what we started.” He said smoothly, taking easy steps over to her and using his arms to cage her in against the counter.

She expected to feel different when she was wholly sober, and was almost mad that she didn’t. Zaeed Massani was a very dangerous place to want to call home. And yet, she didn’t resist in the slightest when he grabbed hold of her chin and kissed her. She caved almost instantaneously, sliding her hands up his abdomen and gripping hold of his shirt. After giving her a taste he pulled away. His face lingered millimetres away from hers but his eyes bore holes into her own, and he waited as if to make sure that she was in fact okay with this.

In response, she pulled off his shirt. He didn’t bother with pleasantries after that, bringing her back with ferocious kisses and working off her own clothes. He was _such_ a welcome distraction. Finally she saw that her assumptions had been correct—he maintained his body as well as he did the guns he carried. Beyond that, the intricate tattoos that before she’d only glimpsed did in fact run the length of both arms.

His hands were rough against her skin in a wanted way, a way that let her know the thirst ran deep. She reached her hands down and undid his pants, forcing them away while he snapped open her bra. The bounty-hunter’s eyes ran slow, determined paths along the sight of her that his hands soon followed, ending with the last remaining fabric being shed.

With one last kiss he gripped her waist and turned her around, pressing her against the counter. He used his hands to move her legs apart, pushing into her with one quick move of his hips. He let out a raspy sigh and her nails dug into the countertop. Getting a good grip on her waist, Zaeed began to build up a rhythm. From where she was, Shepard could see the cars passing by outside the big open windows.

The mercenary had lectured her upon first seeing the apartment that it was a horrible place to live. The windows were too big, too hard to defend. But all she was thinking about right now was getting caught; of some paparazzi flying by and snapping a picture of her getting bent over and fucked by one of the most notorious bounty hunters in the Terminus Systems. He let out a few moans of his own which she certainly wasn’t expecting, but the way he seemed to need this as much as she did made her hungrier. Shepard decided the risk was worth it.

He took a break from the quick pace, leaning over her until his chest pressed against her back. One hand travelled up to her throat and wound around it, gripping tight as he grinded his hips against her. Shepard’s head lolled back against his shoulder, the feeling more comfortable than she’d imagined. What she _had_ imagined was that his mouth was just as foul during sex. He was very much a dirty talker. Under normal circumstances it probably would have been a turn off, but Zaeed made it work. His raspy voice, his blatant arrogance, it reached deep down inside her and worked her over.

“Turn around.” He growled, watching with shallow breath as she managed to move her body to face him. Without warning he picked her up and propped her on the counter, pulling her waist close. “ _There’s_ a good girl.”

“ _Fuck_.” She breathed, wrapping both arms tightly around his neck. Her legs found their way around his waist as he braced himself on the counter; all she wanted to know was this feeling. It was such a pleasant reprieve from the blood, from the gunshots and postponed funerals and that absolute terror the reapers left everywhere.

He caught his name on her lips with his more than once, continuing to spew out curse words as their movements became desperate. Her nails began to draw lines down his back as hers arched, the moan from her throat melting with his. They relaxed into a sweaty conquered mess and she slowly released her hold on him. He pulled out and stood up straight, heaving out heavy breaths as she leaned back. After a moment he went and grabbed his beer off the counter, finishing almost all of it but offering her the last few gulps. She put the empty bottle beside her and the two of them started to get dressed again.

The bounty hunter lingered long enough for the both of them to recover and then made a swift exit. No promise to talk soon, no nothing. He just nodded to her and left. Somehow, she was okay with that. Somehow it made sense, coming from Zaeed.

And she was right not to overthink it. Not even a day had passed before he returned—as always, unannounced. At least this time she was there first and not on the verge of opening fire in the apartment. In a strange sense they’d fallen into a habit of sorts; a routine. He would show up in her apartment day after day, but never at the same time. Sometimes he smelled like blood, sometimes he smelled like liquor, but he always gave her what the both of them so desperately needed. A little sliver of something reliable in this clusterfuck of a galaxy. She’d been in the office, checking her private terminal to try and keep on top of things. He had her on top of the poker table with barely any words exchanged. That time had felt different, it was a varied form of desperation. Something had happened, she knew, but she didn’t press. She let him find the comfort in her that she found in him.

The shore leave felt whole with him. Like an actual break. Maybe it was the fact that he always showed up just when she was starting to get pulled back into the war. A news bulletin accidentally heard or an email she shouldn’t have checked.

“ _On your knees_.” He said in a low voice, watching intently as she complied. With a fistful of her hair, just the way he liked it, she took him into her mouth. It was the most submissive she’d ever been in her entire life, but Massani didn’t make her feel weak through the gesture. It wasn’t subjugation or forced or anything other than mutually desired.

Zaeed may have led the way in the beginning, but Shepard took over without hesitation. He had a way of using his free hand to make the whole act feel much more intimate than it normally did. While one hand moved along with her head’s movements, the other lay on her cheek, thumb occasionally brushing against the skin. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back so Shepard pushed him, using her tongue to make him feel the way she had that night in the cab.

“Fucking _hell_.” He roared, yanking her head away. She knew he hadn’t finished, but he somehow managed to curb the build-up while demanding her to get on the bed. He barely waited long enough for her to settle in before he was kneeling over her. She bent her knees and looked up at him expectantly while he went down on her. Almost immediately she began to squirm, thanking god he didn’t have the restraint to go slowly.

Each time he came back after that night out, things were different. He would stay longer after they were satisfied, he would actually engage in small talk—and recently, deeper talks. Zaeed didn’t need her to be this shining symbol of hope; he’d made up his mind that shit odds or not he was going to go down fighting. So she found herself telling him things that she never would have let anyone else knew. And he recognized this, he knew when to bug her and when to let her talk. For god’s sake they’d almost _cuddled_ the last time he was over.

“Right there,” she breathed, holding his head steady while he worked at her. He ignored the request, fighting against her grip and getting up. He towered over her, the light casting dark shadows over his face as he looked down at her. Without words he got down and pushed inside her, bracing himself on the mattress.

It felt just as good and her legs held him close to her. She wound and arm around his neck, gripping at the blankets with the other. When he built up a steady pace he leaned down to bite at the spots that drove her wild, as if he was rewarded for every noise she made.

Shepard had only been in love once, when she was young and stupid but still capable of loving. No part of her thought that she loved Zaeed—nothing that deep could breed from sex and intimacy for just two weeks—but she was engulfed in him. She thought about him when he wasn’t there, craved him when he was, and found herself wishing he was around during her lower moments. He knew how to talk to her like a human, not just a soldier or a Spectre. He spoke to her knowing she was full of mistakes and flaws, and wouldn’t blame her for making any more.

Zaeed brought her to the brink time and time again but always pulled away just before, teasing her so badly she began to utter death threats. Their escalating nature only seemed to amuse him but he himself couldn’t hold out forever. Finally, as the whole bed began to ram against the wall to the rhythmic beat of their bodies, they found release. He cursed but stayed on top of her, waiting for his breath to steady a little before leaning down to kiss her. She kept him there longer than he would’ve dared, but eventually they parted and he settled in beside her.

He wound one arm behind her head, wrapping it across her upper chest and gripping her shoulder. Shepard used a hand to push back her hair while the other lay comfortably on his chest. In the quiet aftermath she began to idly play with the greying hairs on his chest. The mercenary didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they laid there like that for over an hour before she finally spoke.

“Where are you going when you leave?” She asked in as plain a voice she could muster. They ignored the fact that when he’d first showed up at her apartment, he’d claimed to be leaving in just a few days. Two weeks later, he’d been hooked.

“Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” He said simply, shifting around. When he looked down at her she turned her head upwards to meet his eyes. He stared for a moment before heaving out a sight and rolling his eyes. “Maybe I’ll round up some old contacts. Go kill shit in your goddamn war. _Help_.”

The last word came out in a mocking way, and she laughed, but in the noise she came to realizations she didn’t want to acknowledge. Turning over onto her stomach, her chest pressed against his while she looked at him.

“What?” He asked, tilting his head to see her better. She hesitated before reaching out and tracing her fingertips along the deep scar branding his face. It would have been the time for him to say some smartass comment, but instead he just watched. Shepard had fallen for the bounty hunter. In fact, she had fallen for him long ago—only she hadn’t been willing to admit it.

“I didn’t keep coming down to see you on the Normandy for your war stories.” She said almost as an afterthought. He wasn’t fazed by the revelation at all.

“Didn’t keep talking just to hear my own bloody voice.” He admitted, squirming a little at the statement. As if saying it aloud would somehow make him weak. She didn’t smile or smirk or react in anyway that would deter him. She just leaned up, hovering her lips above his for a moment, and then kissed him.

This one felt different from the others. It wasn’t hungry or desperate, it was slow and sincere. It held weight to it that neither of them would be able to back away from. It held the closest thing to a vow they would have. But with all things, it was cut off.

“Sorry, again.” Traynor winced as Shepard answered her comm. She began to ramble but stopped short at the sight of her commanding officer. “Oh my god is that—Zaeed Massani?”

“Did you need something, Traynor?” Shepard replied as calmly as she could, sitting up a little. The mercenary’s arm wound around her waist, lightly brushing up and down her side. As if he wasn’t enough of a distraction just being there.

“I-uhm-yes. Well, I’ve been monitoring ally communications in an attempt to keep you and the Alliance up to date, and I think I’ve found something important.” Samantha explained in her whirlwind way. Shepard was paying attention as best as she could, but the mercenary was letting his hand travel further and further south on her body. When he bordered on the spot between her legs, she grabbed his hand.

“Something big? Reapers?” Shepard asked, absently aware of the face that Massani hadn’t released her hand, but rather just…kept hold of it.

“Not exactly. There’s a lot of chatter in the Perseus Veil. I can’t pinpoint anything specific right now, and the decryption would take some time, but whatever it is…it’s big. The whole Flotilla has retreated back into the star system, and I don’t think it’s in defence. Should I call the team back to duty?”

“No, not just yet.” Shepard said with a sigh. She was supposed to have two more days. “I’ll come up to the Normandy, go over the data with you. Let everyone else enjoy their leave until I know for certain what the plan is.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Traynor replied with a salute before cutting off the communication. Shepard laid back in the bed for a minute, closing her eyes as if it would pause time. But she knew it wouldn’t that the war was waging on around her while she stole this personal moments. She looked over at Zaeed, trying to figure out what to say, but he beat her to the punch.

“Go on then, save the bloody galaxy.” He said roughly, releasing her from his grip and watching as she begrudgingly got out of bed.

Her feet hitting the floor spurred a rush to find her clothes and prepare herself for the next wave of battle this intel would likely bring. While she pulled on her undergarments, pants, and shirt, Zaeed sat up and found his briefs. Shepard was looking around for her dog tags when she noticed something felt off. Looking down at her appearance, she realised she’d accidentally put on the mercenary’s black shirt instead of her own. In her defense, they did look similar all scrunched up on the floor. She looked over at him and began to take it off but he shook his head.

“Just keep it.” He muttered, lighting up a cigarette and getting to his feet. He’d be able to find something else, she rationalized, somewhere in the place. Anderson had left clothes here, much of them in the downstairs bedroom. After a moment, Shepard accepted the fact that she was just very attached to the notion of having something of him with her. When she realized that she had everything she needed to leave, her feet became cement.

“I uh…” She wanted to say something worth saying, something that would stay with him, but nothing came to mind. Everything in her head sounded like the kind of thing he’d call her a pussy for admitting out loud. “I guess you can just lock up when you leave. Let me know if you need anything through Alliance requisitions.”

“Got it.” He said simply, staring her down. She hesitated, fighting a battle within on what to do. Finally, with a roll of her eyes, she decided that if this was to be the last moment she didn’t care about being sentimental. Shepard took quick steps over to him and brought his lips to hers, kissing him hard. He responded wholly, as he always did, and kept her pressed against him with his free hand for as long as they both dared. After that she turned and walked for the stairs.

“Shepard,” He called out just before she was out of eyesight. She turned back, braced on the doorframe, and watched as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. When he exhaled he looked up at her with an expression she’d never seen him sport. It bordered on vulnerability. It resembled desperation. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The apartment was supposed to represent some element of comfort, some semblance of a normal life. But as her guilt-laden feet dragged across the threshold into the empty residence she couldn’t have felt more out of place. Maybe if there was a fire raging or some corpses in the living room, but the whole flat felt far too well-kept to be deserving of. Shepard threw her things down and immediately turned on the stereo.

There were songs that she kept for parties, songs she kept for background noise, and then there were songs she kept when she needed to absolutely lose herself. Maybe if her ears hurt as much as she did inside, things would balance out. She turned the volume up until her whole body felt the raging baseline, and then turned it up some more just for good measure.

Shaking her body to the core, the feeling of things trembling reminded her of Thessia. _Good,_ she thought to herself _, I don’t deserve to forget it_. Shepard took defeated steps over to the bar and searched for something to get completely shitfaced with. In one of the far cabinets there was a bottle that looked old. It was some Asari refinery of a substance from the Hanar home world, guaranteed to make your insides bleed if you drank too much.

Popping the lid off, she took deep gulps of the stuff. It stung so badly her eyes watered, but she figured that was a good sign and kept the bottle with her. She crossed to the window and completely blacked them out from the rest of the world, retreating to the small space behind the bar and settling in. Bringing her knees up close to her chest, she downed more of the harsh liquid, coughing a little.

Every time her eyelids shut, she saw visions of Thessia on fire. Of the whole planet’s decimation and the giant, looming threat of the Reapers. In the undertones of the blaring music she heard the final cries of the Asari commandoes begging for help. The people she promised to save. _And I allowed Cerberus to beat me. Again_. Why Liara hadn’t left her company completely was beyond Shepard, seeing as she had only aided in dooming the planet.

Leaning her head back against the wall, she drank and drank and drank. Praying to whatever deity she could think of to either help her make things right or let her die in the process. Take her back to the darkness she’d floated in after the original Normandy blew up. Hell, right now anything would be better than the overwhelming amount of blood on her hands.

Every few minutes tears tried to force their way out. The way Liara looked…the way the Asari Councillor sounded when she finally answered her call…But Shepard couldn’t let herself cry. If she started, a part of her believed that stopping wouldn’t be an option. She was _so_ scared of everything that still had to be done. What would happen if they never found the catalyst? If even after following up on Traynor’s lead they were left with nothing? If she started to cry for the most recent things, the last three years would come barreling down on her. She doubted even cybernetic upgrades could withhold the impact of finally coming to terms with the pressure building up inside of her.

Wiping away at the wetness in her eyes before it could brim over, Shepard’s head lulled down when the stereo cut out. Plunged into a sudden silence, she cursed under her breath and began to stand. By the time she managed to get to her feet and drink some more, a figure appeared beside the fireplace. It should have jarred her, should have made her reach for a gun, but she was in such a bad place that the thought of death almost felt like a comfort.

“Zaeed?” She wiped at her mouth, reaching to steady herself on the counter. He was looking around the apartment, not at her, when he spoke.

“Surprised the neighbours didn’t call C-Sec about the noise. Thought I missed a party invitation…” He trailed off when he finally caught the sight of her. The way his eyes lingered was more than she deserved, so she drank some more and straightened up.

“I didn’t know you were on the Citadel.” She said plainly, spinning the bottle inch by inch on the bar. He stayed where he was, as if acknowledging the barrier she was keeping up.

“Yeah, well, your Shadow Broker friend has a habit of keeping tabs on me. Bit annoying really.” He shrugged. “Told me you were on leave. Said you might…”

“Be going on a bender?” She challenged, finally looking him in the eye. His face remained blank, as always, and she sighed. “If only I had that luxury…but it’s…Good to see you.”

“You look like hell, Shepard.” Zaeed chastised, shaking his head slightly. She let out a weak laugh and nodded, rubbing her shoulder. Taking the bottle in her grasp she took another mouthful and walked over to the couch, leaning against the back.

“I wish I felt half as good as Hell.” Shepard said quietly as he walked over and joined her. The two of them watched the fire burning before them in silence. He took the bottle, nearly finished now, from her grasp and drank the rest of it himself. The empty bottle clinked gently on the ground where he set it and she wished he didn’t provide such comfort. Part of her felt like absolute trash that Liara had gone through the trouble of contacting the bounty hunter in an attempt to console her. Liara was the one who needed consoling. It wasn’t her crew’s job to monitor their commander.

And yet, a small part of her took satisfaction at the thought of him dropping everything to come to her when she needed him most. Even if she hadn’t done the asking herself, at the mention of her current demise he’d left behind whatever he was doing and travelled across the galaxy to be here in this borrowed apartment.

No part of her could deny the night may have ended much differently without the sudden arrival of the mercenary. Hell they weren’t even doing anything; the two of them just sat there in silence for longer than she bothered keeping track, but it was enough. As if the fiery destruction in front of them was enough to keep them occupied. But Shepard’s mind raged on, and after a while she destroyed the quiet.

“You’ve been around the galaxy a lot…” She began, avoiding his eyes as he turned to face her. “You’ve seen some pretty horrible things.”

“Lot more since the war started, but yeah.” Zaeed’s armor plates clinked together as he shifted around. Everyone had their demons, their horror stories. Shepard didn’t doubt that he was seeing some fucked up shit out there with his mercenary band.

“Can I ask you something?” She listened for his tell-tale grunt before proceeding in a quiet voice. “With the really bad times…does the screaming ever stop?”

“You can’t save every planet, Shepard.” He said simply as she finally turned to face him. She was so glad he was bringing it up, even if he wasn’t blaming her like she deserved. His bad eye focused on the broken shell of a warrior in front of him. “You lose people, and you’re going to lose a whole lot more. That’s war, Shepard. That’s life.”

“It was bad enough leaving people on Earth…but Thessia…” She began, shaking her head and straightening up. Resting an arm against the wall above the fire place and leaning on it, she welcomed the heat radiating upwards from the flames. “I promised those people I would save them. That I would end the war. But I let Cerberus beat me.”

“Enough.” He growled, pulling her away from the fireplace. The flames reflected orange in her eyes, the threatening tears glistening. Clenching his jaw against the feeling brewing in parts of himself he swore had been closed off for good, he let out a heavy breath through his nose. Shepard looked down at this hand that lingered on her arm before meeting his eyes.

In a few quick moments she crumbled, placing her hands on his cheeks and crashing her lips against his. The bounty hunter didn’t need further invitation; he immediately responded and settled his hands on her lower back. Her unbridled desperation for the distraction he provided scared her almost as much as the reapers did. But it wasn’t just about the distraction of him peeling off her shirt. It wasn’t all about how her hands found the memorized spots that unlocked his armor and sent it crashing to the ground.

It was the fact that he kept coming back. That some part of her was entertaining the idea of reliability—and hell, she had to go and find it in the middle of Armageddon. She held the idea of him closer than she should have, accidentally placing far more dependence on his spot in her life than was warranted with her history of bad luck. But as they shed layer after layer of fabric in rough movements, she thought about the impossible glimmers of good luck in her life too. Making it out of the megatropolis, working up the ranks of the Alliance, not getting her ass handed to her by Sovereign, and miraculously surviving the biggest suicide mission of all time… Maybe this… _thing_ …she had with the mercenary was just another sliver of good luck. Something good to outweigh the bad. And tonight, she needed the help more than ever.

She maneuvered them onto the rug beside the fireplace, pressing down on his shoulders to keep him flat against the floor while she straddled his hips. His hands, covered in cuts and some minor burns, pressed roughly to different parts of her body. As if reminding her over and over that he was there, that this was her present moment, that they in fact existed together in this space. She leaned forward and brought her lips down on his, her hair draping downwards and brushing against his face. He ran his hand along her arm and up to the back of her neck, wrapping into the choppy locks until she sat up. With one hand she reached down and guided him into her body.

The both of them exhaled a sigh of relief, as if the buildup had been bordering on cruelty. But that’s what his presence always was: a relief. A secret hideout that no one else frequented that she had proverbially carved her initials into. A place for her to retreat. At his command she began to slowly roll her hips, eyelids closing and fingertips pressing for a grip on his abdomen. His hands dug into her lower back and helped her move, guiding her in a way that made the experience shared and not just two people seeing the same thing from different angles.

Now and again her mind would drift back to the bad place, to the memories that only composed of a hot blackness and a drowning sorrow and a death grip of screams around her neck. But whenever she lingered there too long, the bounty hunter found a way to bring her back. He would touch her or say something so dirty she had to play it back again in her head to make sure she’d heard him right. For God’s sake he’d almost managed to make her _laugh_. To laugh now, after everything, it didn’t seem possible, let alone right.

Shepard tried not to think about these things. She tried not to think about anything, really, except for the moment. Except for the feeling of them fucking, and how she couldn’t find a single regretful bone in her body. He sat up and wrapped a tattooed arm around her waist, nipping at her neck and jaw and chest. _Mine, mine, mine_. His hair grew messy the more her hands graced it, and yet somehow it only made him look better.

Without warning he flipped her over and pressed her back to the floor, caging her in with his arms on either side. Leaning over her like this, she was completely at his mercy. He could have done anything to her in that moment and she would have complied. The acknowledgement of this terrified her. She couldn’t help but wonder if this hesitation to love or be loved counted as a weakness, a lack of strength. All he did, though, was kiss her. Kiss her and fuck her properly.

Her hands wound up behind her head and pressed against the heated glass of the fireplace. The rug was itchy on her bare skin, rubbing her raw with each forceful move he made. She was getting close and he could tell; from the first time in the skycar he had been frightfully good at reading her body language. The bounty hunter straightened up, sweat beading on his chest and forehead, and heaved her waist close to him. Every moan she released was savoured by him, so much so that he indulged her with a few of his own. Small decibels to vow that he, too, was feeling just as undone by her as she was by him. He worked her over hard to get her to come, and as always waited until she had finished to find his own release.

At the end of it all they lay side by side, a gasping sweaty duo. She was feeling so goddamn sentimental, so lost and defeated, that she had half the mind to reach over and take his hand. But she didn’t; she lay them on her rising and falling abdomen instead. After a few minutes of silence, and once they had finally caught their breath, he half-sat up and reached over her body to where his clothes were. Pulling on his briefs he cracked his neck.

“You should get some sleep.” He said simply, tossing over her bra and underwear. She knew that his eventual departure was unavoidable, but she hadn’t at all expected it so soon. She thought they’d been making a weird form of progress, with him staying long and longer each time they met up. But Shepard figured she had to take her victories where she could, and hope that she would make it through the night. Zaeed got to his feet and offered a hand to help her up too. He disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to get something for the road, so she got herself half dressed.

No part of her had the energy for goodbyes so she started up the stairs, but realized when she was half-way up that he was trailing behind her with a newly opened beer. He was making surprisingly good work out of chugging the beer and simultaneously ascending the stairs. The fact that he was staying was such a sigh of relief. A disproportionate burden she selfishly felt lighter for having had taken from her.

Setting the nearly-empty beer bottle down on the night stand, Zaeed stretched his arms behind his back and waited for Shepard to crawl into the bed. Only once she was settled did he dare disturb the covers, messily clambering in beside her and stealing looks now and again. The resurrected Spectre turned away from him, not wanting to demand too much intimacy at one time. How ridiculous that she could face down monstrous brutes, hell she could even shoot a goddamn reaper in the face, yet crumbled under the idea of driving one man away. This weakness felt worse than any other kind, at times.

Curling her legs up and slipping her hands under the pillow, she tried to calm her mind as he settled in. The mixture of adrenaline, alcohol, and a horrid mix of oxytocin-dopamine filling up her system made sleep feel a thousand light years away. But her body ached for it. Her entire being pleaded for, yearned for, longed for the blessing of a blackout existence. Even for just a few hours. Before anything could even start eating her up too badly, she felt the warm and welcome presence of an arm wrapping around her middle. Shepard allowed her hand to reach down and take hold of his, caging herself in his grasp. As though his bruised body could shelter her from the storm.

Shepard recalled the mission on Zorya with Zaeed, the big defining moment. They hadn’t known each other for that long, and for her he was still too much of an unknown. People only loyal till their next pay didn’t strike her as very loyal at all (as Jacob so graciously liked to remind her with the recruitment of Thane). So when she made the call to let Vido go, to focus on saving the dozens of people put in danger on her watch, she expected him to break. Every last part of her was waiting for him to force her hand, to make her have to put him down for good. But one good suckerpunch and an explanation, and he managed to see reason. Or at the very least understand that she was in control.

As they lay together she wondered what it was that had made him back down. Why he’d listened to her at all when he’d already received his payment. Surely if he wanted to he could have left—but he’d stuck it out and didn’t bring the incident up to use against her. Instead what did he do? He helped her. Came to her aid. Back on the Normandy it was in the form of stories to keep her distracted for a few blessed hours. On the Citadel it was in the form of sex. But now, in her lowest moments, it was in the form of honest and desperately needed companionship. His arm, pulling her ever-closer against his body, a silent promise of solidarity. A reminder she was not alone.

Sleep hit her like a Mack Truck, all at once and blackout-forceful. As she slipped further and further into oblivion, she couldn’t tell who the bigger enemy was; the sentient race of killer machines or her own goddamn subconscious. What was the evolutionary benefit of nightmares? What biological purpose could reliving the worst moments of your life provide? Whatever the joke of a justification, they plagued her constantly. And that night was the worst in a very long time. It riddled her system so deeply that she awoke in the dead of night, in hours reserved for romance or sorrow. Foreign hands were on her shoulders, her own hands reaching for a gun that was not on her side.

“Shepard.” His voice was rough, a grumbling tone of disturbed sleep. Her chest heaved too fast for her to control, limbs shaking as fervently as her brow sweat. She could feel the panic creeping in, could sense the way it seized up her body. Without hesitation she scrambled out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, bracing herself on the sink as the visions hit her one after another. The massacre on Akuze, that unforgettable sound of her fifty squad mates being eaten alive. The horrible warning message from the Prothean beacon that made her skin crawl. The terrifying moments in her last suicide mission, and now Thessia in ruins. All of it hit her, one unforgiving sucker punch after another, scrambling up her insides.

She needed to get it out of her system. She needed a goddamn minute to breathe so she could stop heaving. Roughly turning on the shower behind her, Shepard left the water ice cold and sat down under the stream. It stung her awake with as much harshness as her nightmares did, but it didn’t at all help the way she shook. She could feel the tears threatening again, daring her to let them slide.

And then there were feet in her peripheral vision. The mercenary, the bounty hunter, the last person she ever expected to be at her side outside of a firefight. He didn’t say anything, but settled for sitting down beside her and getting soaked too. After a few moments his arm draped over her shoulders. The fact that he didn’t try to promise her everything would be okay was a comfort in itself. She didn’t need to imagine some perfect, glorious future where the sun was always shining and the galaxy didn’t ache. She just need to make it through the goddamn night.

When she finally got herself under control, she turned the water off and went to fix herself up. Instead of going to bed, though, she began to mess around with all of her guns. Massani stood there in the threshold of the closet, towel-drying his hair and looking at her with a vaguely accusatory glance.

“Can’t very well be a big goddamn hero if you don’t sleep at some point.” He shrugged, trying to make the suggestion as casual as possible.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” She said, deadpan. At that he walked over and forcibly pulled the weapon from her hand. Pushing her in front of him, he led her back to the bed. She gave him a look, and he knew exactly why she didn’t want to sleep.

“Sit.” He ordered before disappearing downstairs. When he returned he put a small yellow pill in the palm of her hand. Nodding to her, she swallowed it in one gulp. “It’ll knock you out for a good eight hours.”

“Completely?” Shepard asked with a raised eyebrow. He climbed onto the bed beside her and motioned for her to lay down. Only when they were settled, him with one arm behind his head and her with hands laced over her abdomen, did he reply.

“No dreams. Guaranteed.”

Shepard had almost forgotten that he, too, had his share of horror stories. For God’s sake he was a bounty hunter in the Terminus systems, how many slaving rings had he come across? Trafficking operations, forced prostitution, child labour, he must have seen it all. It only made sense that he had bad nights too. She took a perverse comfort in the way their scars aligned.

This time, she’d abandoned all pretense of keeping her distance. She curled right up against him with her head on his chest, knowing that if the pill worked he’d be gone the next time she woke up.

“Zaeed?” Her voice was choppy as she called into the darkness. He grunted in response, a deep guttural sound that reverberated in his chest and against her head. “Thanks.”

He brought his free arm down and pressed his palm to her lower back in response. Leaving it there, she listened to the sound of his breathing slowing until she was finally taken into the blissful darkness.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The bed was empty when she finally woke up. It made sense, she reasoned. It wasn’t fair for her to expect so much from him. Not with the galaxy the way it was. With a deep breath in and a deeper one out, she rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. Part of her wanted to throw another party, but she knew there was no time. They were only docked to pick up supplies and tune up the Normandy before heading out for Horizon to investigate whatever was going on there. With the way everything else had gone, it probably wouldn’t be good.

She brought up her omni-tool and half-ass browsed her emails that had accumulated overnight. Nothing, miraculously, seemed incredibly urgent. In fact there was an update from Admiral Ran about how things with the Geth were going. A sliver of good news. It should have made a dent—and it very much did not. She finally gathered the strength to sit up and checked the time; they would be heading out in a few hours. Shepard quickly sent a message to the crew to remind them, knowing she couldn’t possibly the only one who needed a lot of alcohol to cope with what was happening.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” A voice roared from the lower level. Shepard’s instinct made her reach for her gun on the table, but recognition hit her. A strange sensation bubbled in her stomach as she quickly pulled her uniform on. Taking hesitant steps down the stairs, she followed the strand of muttered curse words into the kitchen where the mercenary was sloppily cleaning up the contents of a spilled drink. He barely looked up at her before whipping the drenched cloth in the sink. “Food’s over there.”

Shepard looked at the island and saw two plates with a simple meal of eggs, bacon, burnt toast, and hash browns. As human a meal as you could make. There was even a coffee steaming beside one of the plates. She had a hard time believing any of this was anything less than a hallucination. A side effect of the alcohol, maybe? Or that combined with the pill. She had no reason to be this lucky after what happened on Thessia.

Because the fact of the matter was despite how nonchalant Zaeed was as he sat down and dug in, he had never once been there when she woke up. Stayed the night, sure. Hung around for a few hours and occasionally going for round two, but he had never been around when she woke up. Let alone crafted up a meal for the two of them to have at the same time, together. Shepard was expecting a really unpleasant conversation.

“I’m impressed.” She said lightly after taking a bite of the food. He grunted in response, reaching behind him to get hot sauce out of the fridge. He drowned his food in it and offered her the bottle. While they ate he turned on the TV in the kitchen and they watched a game of bioti-ball. Neither of them said anything, as if acknowledging that the time was running out. Just as they were finishing EDI sent a message to her comm.

“Hello, Shepard. As requested, this is a reminder the Normandy leaves docking bay D-24 in exactly one hour. If necessary, I can offer a variety of substances to counter the effects of a hangover.”

“Thanks, EDI, I should be fine.” Shepard replied with what bordered on a laugh. Zaeed took the empty plate from her without asking and put everything away.

“Come on, then.” He said when she was finished, fixing his armor. Shepard hesitated, understanding full well that this meant he intended to escort her to the Normandy for a proper goodbye. Honestly, she didn’t know how to feel about it. How to properly react.

When they both had everything they needed she locked the apartment up, waiting a few minutes for a free cab to come to them on the strip. She punched in the destination and the security code that was used to prevent random people from entering the docking bay. The cab descended into the area and they got out. Liara was waiting at the doors but at the sight of the mercenary she instead smiled at Shepard and went inside. They followed up the docking tube and entered the Normandy. She took him on a quick tour of the updated ship, smiling to herself at all of his complaints. He was _not_ at all happy that some reporter had taken his space. He was even less happy that his trash compactor had been removed.

Eventually everything to see had been seen and everyone to be introduced to had been met, and all that was left was the hard part. The elevator took them up to her cabin and she opened the door. She realized that he was dreading this as much as she was when he started to ask her really obvious, mundane questions.

“Your Alliance supplying enough ammo?” _Yes, plenty to find on the battlefield too_. A dozen questions just as painfully obvious were asked and dutifully answered. She leaned against her desk and he settled beside her, neither of them looking at each other. As if it would somehow cement the end. Initiate the goodbye.

“Shepard,” EDI began over the comm system. “We are nearing the time for our departure. If you wish to exchange an emotionally significant farewell I suggest initiating it now.”

“Think I liked her better shackled.” Zaeed grumbled, straightening up and turning to face her finally. She looked at him, bruised and battered, scarred and half-blind. And she wanted him to be hers completely. Shepard gave him a look and fully acknowledged that her night would have been a monumental mess if he hadn’t shown up. From the way he looked back at her, hand scratching at this scar, he knew it too.

“Why’d you stay?” She found herself asking him aloud. It was only ever supposed to be sex. Purely a distraction, a way to pass the time. Take their minds off the bad place outside. He looked at her blankly. “Why’d you keep coming back?”

“Told you.” He shrugged, taking half a step closer as she straightened up. “I’m an all-in kind of guy.”

It was the closest to a declaration of affection they were likely to ever get. With a deep sigh she leaned forward and kissed him hard. A little too much desperation leaked through, a little too much fear. There was no way he could miss the way she’d made him an anchor. But his hands gripped at her and kept her close to his body in a way that made her think he sort of felt the same.

“Be careful out there.” She said when they finally broke apart, tracing her fingers over his scar. “If I make it you damn well better too.”

“Yeah, well, goes both ways.” After a few more moments he finally was strong enough for the both of them and headed towards the door. She followed only to the elevator, knowing it would be so much harder to leave if she went with him to the airlock. “Shepard—gut the bastards. Every last goddamn one of them.”


End file.
